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Montey

“Sir, a shipment of bread has been waylaid leaving the Drift.”

Duke Malory didn’t take up eccentric habits for servants to interrupt them, they were specifically engaged for the purpose of escaping this tedious position for a spell. And besides, who else would ensure the grass was precisely an inch long? Certainly not those lacklustre gardeners.

“Sir?”

“Yes, yes. Well done, er…”

“Montefort, m’lord.”

“Quite. Well done, pass me those shears would you dear?”

One from the background of servants skittered to Duke Malory’s side, picked up the silvered shears and passed them to Montefort who then dutifully handed them back to the Duke.

“Excellent work Montey, can I help you further?”

He was starting to splutter.

“Sir… the bread?”

“Yes, bread. Have them whipped and throw the bread in the river. Can’t have the rabble tampering with tradition, they come to my quaint bakeries if they want their bread.”

“Yes sir, but…” he waved in a servant that the Duke had assumed was his own until now, “Here. Do you see this loaf, m’lord?” The Duke rolled his head to indicate that yes he did know what bread was and that he wasn’t quite that detached from the common man yet. Though admittedly it was a particularly round and crusty example, assumedly to withstand the rigours of Drift life.

“See here.” Montefort tore a lid in the bread to reveal a sleeping baby at the centre.